Yet again, there was no real celebration / veneration of Divine Mercy this past weekend. I specifically went to a parish that I thought stood the best chance of acknowledging this Feast, but I was again (third year in a row) discouraged by a complete lack of time dedicated to calling the faithful to take full advantage of this incredible once-a-year event.

The Feast of Divine Mercy occurs the Sunday after Easter. Why is this such a special event? Jesus promised that to those who venerate His Divine Mercy will be forgiven all of their sins and will be granted full remittance of the punishment due as a result of those sins.

That's a clean slate, folks. Clean as in pristine... a baptismally clean soul that is gift wrapped and handed to you simply because Jesus loves you THAT MUCH and wants you as close as possible to Him.

That is a MIND-BOGGLING GIFT. Should you die after reception of the Eucharist (having completed veneration and prayers), you would go RIGHT TO HEAVEN. No stopping in Purgatory, no fear of Hell... not even if you committed the worst, most heinous sins imaginable.

And yet for three years now, three different parishes that I've attended have basically ignored this! THREE!

Is this willful ignorance??? I mean, how in the world do you NOT discuss this with your parishioners??? How do you NOT admonish them to take full advantage of this feast???

Given the mess this world is in, wouldn't you want your people to take full advantage of armor such as this?

Ay.

Everyone was so focused on the canonizations. I'm fully aware of how historic and cool it is to have such gems added to our Church Canon, but c'mon now. If St. John Paul II were physically standing here in front of the Church, I guarantee you he'd be smacking us lovingly with a stick and reminding us of the feast day he, himself, approved.

That was part of why they pushed to have his canonization coincide with Divine Mercy Sunday. His canonization, though, no matter HOW MUCH everyone loves him, should not have overshadowed Divine Mercy. I don't care if we were canonizing him and fifty billion others around the world. No amount of canonizations and no amount of holiness on the part of humans (even humans like JPII) can possibly outshine the dignity, grace and blessings of DIVINE MERCY.

I'm seriously so upset over this. So flippin' upset.

At the end of our Mass, Fr. John did mention it briefly in passing, but he said something along the lines of "For those of you with a Divine Mercy devotion, this is your Sunday. I wish you a blessed feast."

My mouth actually dropped open.

The 2nd Sunday of Easter is not strictly for devotees. It's for EVERYONE who wants to avail themselves of Christ's Mercy. He doesn't restrict it to those of us who happen to like that particular chaplet or happen to have this image up in our homes. It is for ALL SINNERS. To wave it off as a small devotion is such a disservice to the meaning behind this feast.

Ugh.

It's now Wednesday and I'm still incredibly bummed about this. I can't imagine St. John Paul II being happy that a party for him and his buddy, Saint John the 23rd, completely overshadowed the most joyous feast that Christ, Himself, gifted to the world.

I just... wow. So sad about this. Please tell me there are those of you out there who had Masses that highlighted this feast.

﻿The outside of this church belies its spacious, breezy interior with golden sunlight streaming in from every window. It feels like you are ambling under a gazebo during a relaxing summer afternoon. I was surprised with how massive it felt, especially when you considered the size of the image of Mary that hung high and proud behind the tabernacle.

I grinned when I noted that the pews were very modest. There were no cushions, no padding on the kneelers. Worship isn't about creature comforts... it's about praising God.﻿

I captured this sacristan's head along with the tabernacle to give you an idea just how massive this piece of artwork actually is. This rendition of Our Lady of Guadalupe might be among my favorites. She is simply beautiful, as she should be. Above her are the words "Queen of Mexico and Empress of America." At least I'm 99.9% sure of that, anyway.

I felt like this piece was woven or embroidered somehow. It wasn't a painting... at least I don' think it was. I just couldn't imagine the time it took to painstakingly stitch each glorious detail.

Here is a full shot of the sanctuary. Given the scope of the Virgin's tapestry, you can imagine how large the crucifix actually is.

I didn't notice until after I'd taken the photo, but the detail of Christ's Face moved me. I don't typically like the super gaunt versions of Our Lord looking anorexic (He was a carpenter - He would have been strong and broad from all His toil with wood), but I did not mind this one so much. The artist did not shy away from the Blood that oozed from His wounds. I appreciate that His shoulder wound and those on His knees were accounted for. So often they are forgotten.

On either side of the Virgin stood these statues. St. Joseph holding Jesus as a toddler and St. Juan Diego with his unfurled tilma displaying the miraculous image of Our Lady.

I was struck by the Child Jesus' depiction with short, cropped hair. It was styled similarly to Vincent's! It made me think of him reaching up for John. Usually Jesus has long curls. I think I like this version! Juan Diego was painted a darker color than I'd ever seen. I liked that touch so much because so often our saints are Anglicanized and their natural skin and hair colors completely ignored for the common blond hair, blue eyed "ideal" in so many picture books.

﻿St. Michael and a beautiful guardian angel flank both sides of the sanctuary. St. Michael has the power of the Holy Spirit above him while the guardian angel protects her three native charges. I really loved this latter stained glass image. It was very peaceful and loving.﻿

One of their beautiful circular stained glass windows, this one depicting the Holy Family.

Which one of you dares to disbelieve Our Lady's intervention now?! :)

A fitting painting for above the confessional - Jesus saving St. Peter from his own lack of faith.

﻿A couple of their stations. I'm always appreciative when the Resurrection is included. :)﻿

I probably should've mentioned these last two points in my other blog entry, but here will do just fine.

Instead of having lay ministers, this parish utilizes the Brides of Christ to bring Communion to the people. I'm not the biggest fan of women acting as Eucharistic Ministers, but if you're going to allow it, I can't imagine a better way.

Also, the altar servers sat at opposites sides of the sanctuary facing one another (behind the altar but in front of the tabernacle). I thought they were very much like the Seraphim who guarded the Ark of the Covenant. It made me smile to think of them as such given their constant gaze upon the tabernacle.

Finally, a photo of me (graciously taken by my husband) with a frond of palm across from the church. On the way back to the resort, I braided what turned out to be four long leaves into small crowns for my statues at home.

All in all, a beautiful experience at a wonderful parish... even if I couldn't understand all the words being spoken, I could feel the love. For me, that is enough.

The Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe, located in Playa Del Carmen, Mexico, was a beautiful slice of Heaven located a few miles from our resort. It took only 15 minutes or so to arrive by taxi, and my husband was kind enough to accompany me into town so I wouldn't be travelling around in Mexico by myself.

That's right, folks. My wonderful (and atheist) husband agreed to chaperone. Having him with me, I felt confident and comfortable. Thank God he's such a gem. I know Mass was the last thing he wanted to do (especially on our last morning in Mexico), but he came. God bless him, he came.

We arrived about 20 minutes before Mass which gave me ample time to snap a few photographs and pay attention to the pre-Mass cleaning and organization that happened in a flurry of volunteers.

In the sanctuary, an adorable sister swept the marble floor. She paid careful attention to the stairs and shooed away someone dropping palm strands unwittingly before the podium.

An older gentleman, his one arm bandaged tightly to his chest, was using his other arm to deftly maneuver a broom in and out of each pew, somehow navigating kneelers, feet and purses. The action must have been hard on his good arm and shoulder - even his lower back probably hurt from constantly stooping to get under the seats - but he did not seem to mind. He offered himself as custodian of the Lord's House, and I marveled at his quiet dedication.

Then there were ladies in dressed in red. Obviously part of a society of sorts (or maybe a hospitality committee), these women acted like an army of mother hens, hurriedly flitting back and forth through the entire church, ushering some folks to their seats, handing out copies of the readings, informing folks where they could go for palm, etc. It was like they were everywhere at once, working together as a well-oiled machine in anticipation of the swell of Palm Sunday worshippers.

Then there was Father Patrick. At least I'm about 99.9% sure it was Father Patrick. This thoroughly Irish priest stood out from the procession both for his fair complexion and his height. My husband chuckled with surprise and confusion at his presence. He and our friends wondered why they'd need to import an Irish priest given the country is thoroughly Catholic.

They failed to realize that tourists need Confession, too, and English is the best way to reach the majority of us. At least that was my guess. Not that it matters. A priest is a priest regardless of his country of origin, and Lord knows I'm always grateful for them wherever they are.

I had briefly connected with Father Patrick before travelling down to Mexico. My blogger-friend, Jacob Wall, kindly put us into contact when Jacob found out I was trying to plan for Mass while on vacation.

***As a complete aside, I must take a moment to publicly thank Jacob for his incredible help. Without his e-mails of reassurance and helpful pointers, I'm pretty sure I'd've stuck out like the sore thumb I am for more reasons than simply language. His guidance was instrumental in making me feel at ease leaving the resort to cross through town to get to this parish. I honestly cannot thank him enough for his willingness to patiently answer my questions. THANK YOU, JACOB!!!

Mass was exactly what I'd envisioned. There was a wonderful procession into the church led by Father Patrick in his alb and two young altar boys. A lone guitarist strummed simple (but beautiful) melodies that engaged the whole congregation. The readers were direct and humble, each being sure to pay respect to their God in the tabernacle with a genuflect or a reverent bow. Their attention to this often-forgotten reverence made my heart leap with joy.

One thing that surprised me, though, was the Gospel reading. As many of you know, the Passion Narrative is re-enacted by the priest, lector, and congregation. This re-enactment is a reminder to us that we, too, participated in the Crucifixion of Christ.

I retract that statement for correction. Instead, it should read "This re-enactment is a reminder to us that we, too, PARTICIPATE in the Crucifixion of Christ." After all, we participate each and every time we sin. Each sin is an echo of "Crucify Him!" Heaven forgive us.

As this narrative was being read, I noticed that no one in the congregation was reading their portion. Only I was (or it seemed that way to me). I can't speak fluent Spanish, but I can fluidly read the words printed in front of me, so I read our portion aloud only to realize I was the only one reading aloud in addition to the second lector.

I was confused. I wasn't sure if it was a cultural thing to not take part in the spoken liturgy beyond prescribed responses, or if the majority of parishioners were unable to read. I can't imagine it being the latter because it seemed like they were reading along, just not being vocal about it. Regardless, I kept pace with the reading figuring if I was wrong, the folks around me would chalk it up to my own ignorance at custom. At least I hoped they would.

The homily went well beyond my realm of understanding. The only portion I was able to catch was when Father Patrick explained that Christ did not come as a mighty conqueror. He came as a humble Man who died a terrible death on the Cross. He was not what the people were expecting their champion to be. Instead, He brought salvation in a way no one had foreseen. I'm very likely butchering even my weak paraphrasing of the snippet I think I understood, but it was enough of a reflection to keep me sustained through the rest of his homily. Maybe that's all God thought I needed to think on... especially given how arrogant I tend to be sometimes.

Christ didn't come as a warrior who violently clamped down on His enemies. He came as a gentle victim, offering Himself as a beacon that would lead us home.

The closing of Incarnation Parish comes as no surprise. Even with the fundraising project I organized, I knew the buildings were too badly damaged - the community too fractured and jaded - to come back from the blow of losing our school.

And yet even knowing that the closure was to be announced did nothing to lessen the blow. Still my heart breaks knowing that the beauty of Incarnation's art, stained glass and communal spirit will be shuttered and stowed away.

It's hard to explain to folks why such news is so crushing. "It's just a building," they say. "There are other churches you can go to" they soothe.

And to a parish-hopper like myself, that might make sense. After all, I subscribe to the belief that ALL Catholic churches are homes of the Almighty God. I believe that they're all various rooms in His House and since each one boasts His Presence in the tabernacle, I shouldn't concern myself so much with any one in particular. They're each part of the Church (capital "C").

My sisters and I after Easter Sunday Mass

Still, though, I feel a very deep loss. The pain of loss is not just spiritual or emotional... it is physical. On my way home, I felt as if my heart was slowly being skewered by a spear. This physically hurts.

And I wondered why - aloud.

How can I explain such a painful, emotional reaction to news that a building is closing?

Because it's not just a building. It's my spiritual home... the place I first heard the Gospel, the school that raised me in the ways of Catholic Tradition, the church that celebrated with me my 1st Sacraments, the community that was and, in many ways continues to be, my extended family.

Knowing that so many of us will now be displaced and- for lack of a better word - homeless, it is a terribly sad and hurtful thing. I feel the confusion, frustration, anger and loneliness of my community. All over the Archdiocese, parishes are closing, beloved pastors are being reassigned and church communities are being told they are no longer going to have their familiar places of worship, comfort and prayer. The reason this is so heartbreaking to us is that many of those in these churches put their blood, sweat and tears into building their communities.

Our unparalleled stained glass

Incarnation, for example, still boasts the artist who painted some of our beautiful artwork in the sanctuary. Their families are still members of the parish! Families who have donated statues, the grotto areas, even those who volunteered their time and expertise in repairing architectural damage, painting the interior, and replacing broken panels of stained glass...These families are still a part of the living, breathing community of Incarnation. The same is true ALL OVER Philadelphia. In many ways we feel as though we are being kicked out of the home and family we've forged through our years of love, worship and sacrifice there. Incarnation is our home because we MADE it our home in our united desire to worship God through serving one another.

*Sigh*

The Body of Christ on earth is bleeding out, and I sometimes feel as if the wrists have been slit here in Philadelphia.

Oh prayers, fellow bloggers. This extends far beyond Incarnation... even beyond the Archdiocese of Philadelphia. Satan's smoke has been suffocating our beloved Church for many, many years now. Our apathy, pursuit of pleasure and arrogance opened the door for him, and now we're choking on the illusion of fulfillment he gave us.

Mercy, Lord. We are our own undoing. Even with my rose-colored glasses, I know Incarnation was hurting for quite a while. I accept the closure as punishment for the transgressions we allowed...

Our priests found guilty of so many abuses.Our laity falling lax in love, faith and worship.Our communal apathy regarding keeping your house pristine and structurally sound.Our disregard for true financial support given your many blessings to us.Our arrogant superiority based on our blessed history in Olney.

We really were once "the" parish in N. Philadelphia. I suppose, given our history, we felt ourselves untouchable. I know as a child there, I never imagined there would come a day that Inky would close its doors. How in the world could I have foreseen such a tragedy? This place was, in so many ways, a touch of Heaven.

1st Communion - Mary and I

I remember as a sacristan, walking through the churches (upper and lower) after all the Masses were finished for the day. I felt so close to Heaven in those moments - completely alone with Jesus in the tabernacle.

I also remember as a rectory sitter the many times strangers would come to the door asking for food or clothing. How gratified I felt in making a simple sandwich or handing over clothes / canned food from the downstairs pantry! How VISIBLE Divine Providence was as I took part in it at Incarnation!

And now to whom shall these people turn? To whom shall they go seeking refuge, clothing or food?

Yet another church is closed which cauterizes a faithful avenue for Divine Providence to use.

How my heart bleeds its sorrow. How my soul prays for hope that this terrible cancer in our Church is healed by our Merciful God.

I don't know. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.

I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to feel, and I certainly don't know how to prepare myself for the closing Mass on June 30th.

Prayer, of course, but I just don't know how to reconcile my frustration, hurt and grief with the faith I have in God and Archbishop Chaput.

I love our Archbishop dearly. I believe he's been put here in Philly for the specific task of pruning us something fierce. He's made incredibly bold decisions that have had a very widespread effect on the entire Church in Philadelphia. He closed our school last year, and now our church was sentenced to the cross this weekend.

So together we much embrace this sacrifice like Christ, I guess. We must acknowledge the task of walking in His Ways, even unto Calvary.

And just as together with Christ we die, together with Christ we shall rise again. This is my hope; this is my prayer.

But prayers, dear bloggers. Prayers for us in Philadelphia. Prayers for the Church as She fights off the growing cancer of apathy, the pursuit of worldly pleasures, and arrogance. May the Spirit of Love alight in Her heart and purify Her of such malignancy.

I've been blessed with several artistically inclined friends. Being someone who can't draw a straight line with a ruler, having these artistic friends has always given me a bit of a boost. I can live vicariously through their skill set. Ha!

Long-time readers of this blog know that I absolutely adore paintings. I'll try to sneak them into most entries and sometimes I'll even go on wild tangents trying to figure out their layered symbolism. I just really, really enjoy that sorta stuff!

Anyway, an old friend of mine dropped me a line this weekend. (I've already had this discussion with her, so no worries about wading into a public battle of wits. We've reached an understanding and she gave me permission to post this.) This friend, "Lilly," is a pretty incredible painter. I've linked to her material on my page in the past, and I've attended two of her shows in the last year. We don't really talk much, but I tend to comment on her albums as she posts new work. Every now and again she'll comment on a pic or two of Vince, but that's about the extent of our communication.

I was thus happy (and surprised) to hear from her this weekend when she called. She said that she'd been reading this blog for about a month and has been debating asking for my help with selling her paintings. She said that in exchange for selling her artwork on my page, she'd share my blog with her friends.

Now at first glance, that's not a ridiculous offer. However, I admit that I took offense to it simply based on a conversation I'd recently had with John.

Let me explain:

I've been posting to Facebook about my husband's upcoming movie release. Many of my readers already know that he sold his first movie to Lionsgate and the release is this week. In my attempts to support him in his dream to make and sell movies, I not only agreed to be in the movie (with Vincent), but I helped make the food, solicited help from my best friend, Mary, and have been plugging the movie left and right for it's various screenings, releases, and news-bytes.

Now, what most of you don't know is the name of my husband's movie. The reason for this is that the content in the movie. It's rated R, but it should really be closer to NC-17. It's very "The Hang Over" in content. Thus, I've never promoted it on my page, even after John's begged me to write up a horrible review and rile all of you fine readers up into a tizzy so you'll buy it and yell about it, too.

*Shakes head* My husband - "No publicity is bad publicity." Ha ha!

Anyway, I've made the conscious choice NOT to promote his movie on this page based on principle. He was feeling slightly unsupported because I didn't want to use this medium to promote what I was already promoting through Facebook, Twitter, etc.

As I pointed out, however, I was supporting him in every other way known to man. I was telling folks about his project, I was linking to the various news articles about it, I cooked for the cast / crew, and I agreed - against better judgement - to take part in it. That's about as supportive as it gets, right?

Then, on top of that, I pointed out that for all the unsolicited support he got from me - publicly - he had yet to link to my jewelry page. So I really shouldn't hear word one about being unsupportive.

(Mind you, pointing this out promptly solicited a "Check out my wife's page" post to his feed; I was quite appreciative).

I go out of my way to support the various projects he or our mutual friends get involved with. I'll re-post teasers, I'll comment on promotions, I'll share tasting / jewelry events. Why? Because that's what friends do, right? Even with stuff I'm not entirely excited about because it's not about my excitement regarding a project - it's my level of excitement regarding the success of a friend.

So I re-post - ad nauseum, I'm sure.

Yet I have not received similar treatment and the answer is always the same. "I'd totally repost your stuff if it weren't so religious."

Now this is not an entry whining about how little my friends repost my store. I'm honestly not looking for that. You fine readers have done a wonderful job of spreading the word, and for that, you have my prayers and appreciation. However, I take offense to the fact that there are those among my group who have the audacity to claim I'm unsupportive or unwilling to help because I'm embarrassed by X, Y or Z when they refuse to help me out because they're embarrassed by God, or who would have no problem reposting my jewelry so long as they're getting something out of it. As Lilly pointed out, she'd "make the sacrifice" of posting about God in order to access my "audience."

...

Something just doesn't really sit too well with me when you put it like that.

I don't mind coupling up with others who want to reach a broader audience. I've had similar discussions with Dom, a wonderful artist, and even my friend, Mary. I don't mind sharing wonderful items that I think my readers would be interested in.

What I DO mind, however, is being used and then allowing my readership to be used. Looking to ride the coat-tails of the year and a half I've spent churning out entries, battling against mean-spirited trolls, and pouring out my personal life for what I hope will be the benefit of others... it amounts to being used.

Telling me that you'll "make the sacrifice" of sharing my hard work so you're able to make good off the readership I love, appreciate and respect? I'm sorry, but that just seems downright arrogant.

And I explained it in those terms. If my page isn't good enough for you to "like" or share on its own - or even just because you would like to help me find success - your artwork isn't going to make it any better. Your artwork isn't going to somehow change or overshadow the fact that this blog is Catholic, and everything about me and what I do is firmly rooted in that Catholicism.

So again - this isn't a pity party asking folks to share my page. I don't want it shared by those who simply feel guilted or shamed into sharing. I want it shared by those who either enjoy my work (both written and crafted), or who believe others will find value in this calling.

I apologize for the long vent. It's just that I've been approached by so many folks over the last week or so who were interested in utilizing this page either for ad-space, sales or information (and no, I never have and never will allow 3rd parties to take your information).

It just really drove me up a wall and I ended up feeling very frustrated. Since speaking with Lilly, she agreed that she hasn't exactly been the most stellar at recognizing that my work was just as valid and time-consuming as hers. And maybe that's what folks who don't blog / craft tend to forget.

On Friday night, I had the pleasure of attending the Treasures of the Church veneration that I've been talking about the last few months. I've been building up excitement for myself since learning Father Carlos would be bringing back our heavenly "friends" to the area. What a blessing!

Even more wonderful was sharing this experience with some Philly friends I hadn't seen in years. After giving them the heads up that this would be happening in South Jersey, they generously made the trip out to join in the veneration with me. A friend of theirs from Central Jersey also came out for the night. How blessed is that?

Anyway, upon arrival at the parish (which I'd never been to before), I was met with one of the most majestic sculptures I've seen in Jersey. I cannot exaggerate the enormity of this structure. It smacks you in the face as soon as you turn the corner. Whoever plotted out the design was brilliant. It's location ensures that it can be seen from any angle as you approach, and the design, itself, is full of theological reference. I love it!

Luckily, I had arrived almost an hour early (because I know how packed this veneration would get!) so I had plenty of time to take photos of the surrounding sculptures. I've put them into the slideshow below for you to enjoy!

After taking photos of the gorgeous Crucifixion sculpture, I went wandering around towards the other statues that dotted the grounds. A little fountain caught my eye, and as I neared, I found St. Joseph holding the Child Jesus amongst the spray of water. To his left, I noted that this parish was lucky enough to boast an Adoration Chapel. Yay! Unfortunately, however, it wasn't open when I tried the door. My guess is the organizers were attempting to herd folks into the church where the presentation was to take place, so I couldn't really grumble. Instead, I snapped a few photos of the Pieta statue that sat in front of the chapel.

When you cycle through those photos, note the gorgeous brick-work that serves as a background for those statues. I have no idea who designed this parish, but kudos to whoever it was! Everything is meticulously beautiful!

I saw a crowd of people moving up the stairs of the church, so I figured it was time for me to high-tail it inside. Before I did, however, I stopped to take another photo of yet another statue they had outside the front of their church - it was one of Our Lady holding Jesus as a toddler. I really liked that one!

Upon entering the lobby, I was immediately struck by two signs (also photographed) that I immediately wished were placed over the doors of all churches. You'll see why when you read them. Ha!

Inside the church, I noted some of the most exquisite stained glass windows I'd ever seen. Each was a different apparition of Our Lady, ranging from Mt. Carmel to the Miraculous Medal to La Salette to Fatima. Each was more brilliant than the last. Unfortunately, I couldn't take as many photos inside the church as I had wanted to. I didn't want to disturb those who were praying, and by the time the presentation was over, it was too dark to get good shots of these colorful windows.

However, the painting of Our Lady that you'll see below is actually painted on their ceiling. It is massive, so I apologize that it seems a little distorted. It's only because I had a difficult time getting a proper angle of the ceiling without lying flat on my back in the middle of the center aisle. Ha ha.

I think this is one of those churches I'll have to go back to to snap some more photos of. They had a gorgeous statue of Our Lady in one of the niches to the left, and I wanted to photograph her so badly!!! I knew I'd interfere with prayer, however, so I kept my longing to myself on that score. They also had one of the most intricate tabernacle lamps I've ever seen. If for nothing else, I'll go back just to photograph that!!!

Anyway, I feel very lucky to have found myself at this parish Friday night. What's more, I learned that this is the elementary school my husband attended as a child. How he was able to make his way through here and not gain an appreciation for our heritage is beyond me. Ah well. It's truly some beautiful, beautiful artwork, though.

I've always loved the artwork at St. William's. Their altar is among my top five favorites. Their stations are incredible as well! Next time I'm by, I'll snap some photos of their statues. They've got a favorite rendition of Our Lady that I melt over every time I see it!

Oh... and this is only the lower church! Being in Philadelphia, St. William's is one of those churches that boasts TWO floors - an Upper and a Lower church!

All the Stations are just as resplendent!

How perfect is this for the Altar?

The woodwork creats a sort of baldicino over the tabernacle. It's truly beautiful.